


Untitled sequelet to "I Never Knew This Light Could Be So Violent" - Grimm, Nick/Eddie

by rl4sb4eva



Series: Untitled Grimm Series [2]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rl4sb4eva/pseuds/rl4sb4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled sequelet to "I Never Knew This Light Could Be So Violent" - Grimm, Nick/Eddie

He’d explained it as best he could, why he did it and why you didn’t stop him.

Something to do with destiny and soulmates. You chalk it up to density and grief. Something that happened that you are never, and you will abide by that never, ever going to repeat.

Something which never can be repeated, because it was too fucking weird, and it hurt and you ended up with drool on your shirt and two crescent shaped cuts on the back of your wrist. Along with a fucking massive bite mark on your shoulder with teeth shaped cuts in. And blood on your shirt just to add to the destruction of rather expensive cotton, or linen or whatever it was.

Which of course is why you give him a handjob against the kitchen counter in the morning before leaving, and exactly why you whimper when it turns into a blowjob as his hand settles on the bruising bite and pushes down, and you go with it.

Fold up in front of him and pull him fully from the fly of his trousers, grimacing slightly at the dried patch of come from last nights activities and the spike of pain your head gives when your knees hit the floor.

It’s been years since you did this, college was a hotbed of sexual desires and you didn’t exactly care who it was with.

****

Your legs and back will not forgive you, ever from falling asleep sprawled over him in the chair. It’s the twinge in your knee that wakes you and you pull back sharply, swiping a hand at your face to wipe at dried drool and blood from your cheek.

You stand up, groaning at the creak and pain pain pain that movement induces, biting the noise off when he shifts in the seat.

You make it to the kitchen before you start swearing, fuck shit fuck shit fuck FUCK! Becoming your mantra as you try to figure out where his gun is, he’s gonna shoot you, blow your brains out in the kitchen and get away with it.

You’re about to bolt out the back door when he appears in the doorway, bleary eyed, hair mussed, and rubbing a hand across his face endearingly. No, not endearing, nothing is endearing, he’s going to kill you.

M’ning he mumbles. Hand rubbing down the side of his neck and stopping at the bite.

Um, Eddie, what did we do last night? We, oh god. I’m engaged.

You pause, his eyes have gone comically large and he’s twisting his head in weird contortions trying to look at the mark on his shoulder, two fingers rubbing at the line of dried blood that leads from it and making it flake down his chest, hidden from view by the shirt.

So you start to explain, tearing your eyes away from the spectacle of him.

You don’t think it makes much sense. Stating that it’s a thing with our type, we find a mate and mark them (yeah sorry about that) and then they become ours.

His eyes go larger and he starts moving forward, repeating random words a thing? Mark them? Ou…Yours?

When you get to the part I thought it was all bullshit, honest he’s right in front of you, crowding you against the counter, one hand either side of you and leaning in slightly.

You don’t beg him not to kill you, but it’s a close thing.

Then he kisses you, hard, no finesse at all, sloppy and wet teeth clicking together and biting your lips, one hand fisting itself in the hair at the nape of your neck.

And it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

His hand creeping into your fly, wrapping around your length and you let him have a few strokes, before it’s the easiest thing in the world to put your hand to his shoulder and push.

Your mantra of please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, is so quiet you barely hear it.

****

You swallow, because it’s not the strangest thing that’s happened in the last 24 hours. Your knees protest you standing and you crowd him against the counter again, kissing him once before stepping back and waking straight out the door.

He doesn’t stop you.

It’s only when you’re half way home that the pain really kicks in, head and chest pounding, shoulder aching and knees locking up sporadically. You pull into a diner carpark and let your head fall to hit the steering wheel.

And there’s a curl of agony in your stomach and heart, something that wasn’t there before and shouldn’t be hurting really. Burning up your side and making you long to turn the car around.

You don’t.

****


End file.
